The Sink

In front of the bathroom mirror,
On the terrain of self-terror
From those eyes which window
A world – an unworldly world.

I cannot say it – as a simple poet,
That I have no words to connect
To the stance I’m standing at,
But it’s hardly describeable.

I couldn’t catch there any feeling;
My facial expressions are deceiving,
No smile, no sad droll is revealing,
Just an empty poet on his own.

There, notwithstanding, syllables are expressing
A hidden, barren world – so depressing,
That has no space, no time at all,
Screaming: I’m alone.

At the sink where my elbow’s planking,
In the plughole where the water’s ending,
My thoughts follow-follow the flow;
Sinking thinking into my ego.

Going down, oh deeply, but the hole is seen so weakly,
Deeply, oh yes deeply, but there’s a dark place below,
And I am barely seeing any, any meaning
In the sink and what I’m thinking on…

Benyamin Bensalah

22.10.2018

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